


Keiner hier weiß von meiner Einsamkeit

by Wahnsinn



Series: Rammstein one-shots [8]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Awkwardness, Gen, Hope, Loneliness, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26092519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn
Summary: Oliver is at a party, surrounded by people, but still feels lonely.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe & Oliver Riedel
Series: Rammstein one-shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730041
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	Keiner hier weiß von meiner Einsamkeit

**Author's Note:**

> The title translates to "No one here knows about my loneliness".

The room was full of people, but Oliver felt lonely. Clutching his beer, he glanced at the other partygoers. Everyone seemed busy talking, flirting, having a good time. No one seemed to even notice that he was there.

Then again, why would they? It was not like he was someone special, he was just a trainee plasterer, not one of the popular guys who were good-looking, or played in bands, or both. At the centre of the room, he saw the vocalist in one of the local rock groups. As usual, he was surrounded by girls with dreamy expressions on their faces, looking at him as if he was some god, not just a random guy from Schwerin who happened to growl Herz and Schmerz into a microphone.

Taking a sip of his lukewarm beer, Oliver grimaced. He didn’t really like beer, but he liked having something to hold on to. It made him feel slightly less awkward when he, as always, ended up blending in with the floor lamps, occasionally exchanging a few words with an acquaintance or two, most of the time just observing everyone else having a good time.

Sometimes he wondered why he went to parties at all.

It wasn’t so much that he disliked being by himself. Oliver enjoyed his time alone away from others and the noise that came with them. Besides, even before deciding to go to the party, he knew that he was too shy to dance or talk to people he didn’t know. He still chose to go. Maybe he was fooling himself, deep down hoping that this time would be different. It never was. His friends, who had bugged him to come with them, got drunk. Then they disappeared.

Or, this time one of them hadn’t technically disappeared. They had been sitting on a sofa when one of his friends caught the eye of a girl he hadn’t seen before. As he waved her over, he had sent Oliver a ‘do you mind?’ look before putting on his most charming smile. Shrugging, Oliver stood up and slunk over to a corner. His friend was now busy making out with that same girl, his hands firmly grasping her ass, her fingers tangled in his long, blond mane.

Subconsciously, Oliver ran a hand through his own half-long hair. Despite his young age, it was already receding at the temples and thinning at the top. He had been thinking about cutting it all off, but decided to hold on for a little while longer. It was easy to rationalise it by telling himself that he didn’t want to be mistaken for a skinhead, and that most of his life would be spent without hair, so he should keep it while he still could. Deep down, he was more worried that people would find him even less interesting without hair.

Then again, it wasn’t like anyone was showing any interest to begin with.

Oliver took another drink of his beer. It didn’t taste any better than the previous sip, but he had managed to empty more than half of the bottle. Unfortunately, it was not enough to make him feel even close to intoxicated. Out on the floor, he could see his other friend flailing around in some kind of dance, without any inhibitions whatsoever. No one seemed to care. Then again, his friend wasn’t that tall. It would be harder not to notice two metres of skinny awkwardly trying to move to music.

Often, Oliver wondered what it was like to be able to just let go and not overthink all the time. Social situations made him uncomfortable. It was an irrational fear, he was aware of that. Countless times he had gone through every possible scenario he could think of, and none of them had seemed bad until he found himself in the actual situation, frozen, unable to say or do any of the carefully planned things he had envisioned. His brain seemed to always delay the smart responses just enough for them to surface when he lay in bed at night, trying to sleep.

Ruckus over by the door made Oliver look over. Some guys from another local band had decided to stop by, and they were immediately surrounded by people who wanted to chat them up. Their guitarist seemed to be extra popular. He had long, blond dreadlocks, was extremely handsome, and he had a charisma cranked up to eleven. Oliver had seen a few of their shows, and as the guitarist used to play bare chested, he knew that he had quite a nice body, too - muscular and curvy. Despite doing sports, Oliver never really seemed to get a lot of muscle. He just stayed thin, and his height only accentuated that.

The vocalist who had previously drawn the most women in the room, suddenly found himself with less of a following. Oliver smiled a little at the guy’s displeased expression. He had thought about picking up an instrument himself. His parents were young, and he listened to the same music as they did, including a lot of Bob Dylan, which made him want to learn to play the guitar. In his dreams, Oliver could see himself as the guitarist in a rock band. He imagined himself on stage, playing in front of an audience without being shy and scared, just rocking to the music and enjoying himself. Maybe one day he’d have the courage to actually go for it. Most likely, he wouldn’t.

Lifting his bottle, Oliver emptied the rest of it, trying to ignore the bitter taste. _I might as well try to get a little drunk_ , he thought to himself, stalking off to get another beer.

The kitchen was quiet, apart from the muffled sound of music and voices. Everyone had gone off to the living room to try and get a piece of the local celebrities. Oliver found another beer in the fridge, and took the opportunity to sit down by the small kitchen table. Grabbing the bottle opener, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his shoulders down, just enjoying the silence.

“I don’t mean to destroy your quality time with that bottle opener, but when you’re done with it, I’d love to borrow it, if you don’t mind.”

Startled, Oliver opened his eyes and looked straight into two playful, blue ones, half covered by blonde dreadlocks. The guitarist was holding an unopened beer bottle in his hand, and he was smiling a smile that made Oliver’s brain short circuit.

“I - um - uh…” Oliver looked at the bottle, then at the bottle opener, then back up at the man in front of him, as if he had no idea how to use the items in his hands.

“If you need any help with that, just let me know,” the man said, smiling a little wider.

Finally regaining his ability to function, Oliver managed to open his bottle. “Sorry, I was just a little lost in my own thoughts,” he apologised, holding the opener out for the other to take.

As the guitarist accepted the bottle opener, their fingers touched briefly. Oliver almost stopped breathing. He felt his face getting warm, and he knew he was blushing as he watched the other man open his beer and toss the opener onto the table.

“Prost!” The guitarist held out his bottle for a toast. Flipping his hair away from his face with his free hand, Oliver got a close look at him. The jawline, the smooth skin, the full lips - and the teeth… Oliver had always been self-conscious about his own, crooked smile, but now he stared at another crooked smile that was so captivating that it took a few seconds before he managed to lift his own bottle.

He didn’t even notice the bitter taste of the beer as he drank the toast. Clutching the bottleneck, he desperately tried to think of something to say, something that could keep the other man in the kitchen for a little longer. Of course, he couldn’t come up with anything.

“Sven!” A loud voice from the living room brought Oliver out of his trance-like state, and soon after, a head stuck in through the doorway. It was one of the other man’s band members. “What are you up to? Coming back out?”

The guitarist turned towards the door. “Soon - I just want to talk a bit to my friend here,” he said nonchalantly, then turned back to Oliver. “That’s my bandmate Dietmar over there. Dietmar, this is…”

“Oliver. You can call me Olli,” Oliver croaked. Had it not been for this Sven guy calling him his friend, he would have internally cursed at himself for not even managing to talk properly, but he was too busy trying to get the gears in his head to start moving again.

“All right. Nice to meet you, Olli,” Dietmar said, and the head disappeared into the living room again.

Plopping down on the chair next to Oliver, Sven took a big swig of his beer before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “These parties are so exhausting with all those people who just won’t leave me alone. I just want to chill," he sighed." Fortunately, they calm down after a while, so I’ll just hang in here with you until then - if you don’t mind. I’m Sven, by the way. I guess you heard. Dietmar is not exactly subtle.”

As Sven held out his hand, Oliver got another glimpse of his smile. Shaking Sven’s hand, he felt his brain threatening to shut down again. “Oliver. Or, just Olli. I guess you heard, too,” he heard himself reply, even smiling as he did, although he immediately felt the flash of discomfort he always had when displaying his uneven row of teeth. If only he had money, he would get them fixed. For a brief moment, he wondered how many years of plastering it would take for him to be able to afford it.

Sven retrieved a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Oliver, who politely declined. Putting one in his mouth, Sven placed the box on the table, and started patting himself down.

“Need a light?” Oliver fished his lighter out from his pocket and lit it, and the other man happily leaned forward, taking a deep drag from the cigarette. Sitting back, he exhaled slowly, letting a thin strip of smoke slip out through pursed lips. Oliver couldn't stop looking at him, he almost felt hypnotised.

“You don’t smoke, but you have a lighter?” Sven said, staring blankly into the smoky air in front of him.

Oliver put the lighter back in his pocket. “My co-workers smoke. They always forget where they put theirs, so I started carrying one.”

“That’s nice of you,” Sven chuckled. “What do you do?”

Oliver felt his self-consciousness wash over him again. He swallowed. “I’m a trainee plasterer,” he said, quickly adding: “I just needed something to do.” Lifting his beer to his mouth, he tried to make it seem like he didn’t care that he was a nobody with a crappy job.

“Don’t we all.” Sven took another drag of his cigarette. “I’ve been a trainee chef, a driver, a window cleaner, a jeweller, a shoe seller… Stasi even tried to make me an informant. They seemed to change their mind when I told everyone they tried to recruit me. Seems like I was the wrong kind of loose-lipped for them, hah.”

“An informant?” Oliver almost choked on his beer. “I thought you were a musician.”

Sven laughed heartily. “I am a musician. My band isn’t popular enough for me to make any money from it yet. But one day…”

He let his words hang in the air as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. Then he took another big swig of the beer. He had almost emptied the bottle already. Looking down at his own, Oliver could barely see that he had drunk anything at all.

Working up courage, Oliver took a bigger sip. “I want to be a musician,” he said, and he could see Sven raising his eyebrows, then turning to look at him.

“You play an instrument?” Sven asked, cocking his head slightly.

Oliver felt himself blushing. “No…” he said, slightly ashamed at the fact that he even dared saying his dream out loud. “I just listen to music a lot, and I want to learn to play the guitar.”

Sven emptied his bottle and put it down on the table with a thoughtful look on his face. “Well,” he said pensively. “You seem like a nice guy, Olli. I like you. If you want to learn how to play the guitar, I can teach you.”

Oliver felt his body freeze up. He could not believe what he just heard, but a voice in his head kept telling him to say something, immediately, before Sven changed his mind.

“You can?” he breathed, expecting Sven to burst out in laughter at him actually believing that he, the guitarist of Orgasm Death Gimmick, would teach him how to play.

Strangely enough, that didn’t happen. Instead, Sven just nodded. “You know the rehearsal room just around the corner? I’ll be there all day tomorrow. Just stop by whenever you want. If you have time tomorrow, that is.”

“I do - thanks,” Oliver managed, clutching his beer so hard that he was afraid the glass would break.

Sven put the cigarette butt in the empty bottle in front of him, picked up his box of cigarettes, and stood up. Leaning in, he placed a light kiss on Oliver’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Olli,” he said with a wink, before leaving the kitchen.

From the living room, Oliver could hear music and the muffled noise of people partying. He was all alone, but he didn’t feel lonely.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered, smiled a crooked smile, and took a sip of his lukewarm beer.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This idea for a story just appeared in my head, and I wanted to write it. While it has several elements from reality, it is very much a work of fiction, my interpretation of shy Oliver meeting the four year older, more confident musician Sven. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading.


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